Melancholia Aeterna
Reflections of Polaris,
cast through curving complex –
it is the driving prime.
We wander with new orientation,
as bleeding saints,
burned by Solaris.
Tribe of lay, of priest, of brave,
our only followers are dogs.
We catch our tears in cups,
and salt our meat,
smiling in tides of joy,
as the paleocortex ripples
with reptilian dreams.
On the bridge of the divided plane,
where life becomes death,
and beauty becomes water,
we live as roaming lions,
rending cities to ash.
Our kingdom is the broken wild.
The Constant Dream
Man of fire and timeless will,
staff and sphere of crucifixion,
vital lands to ride and fill,
thrusting pulse of feral friction.
Woman of water and bottomless being,
body of shape and fat and bone,
carven beauty for the reaping,
wild planet to be sown.
Flesh and teeth and feline face,
heated strife within the glade,
tensions rise with quickened pace,
naked bodies in the shade.
W.H. Martin is a writer, visual artist, and hunter from southern Quebec. With a strong appreciation for classical mythology, his work engages archetypal themes regarding the role of the modern human within the natural cycle. He has an upcoming book titled, "The City in the Wilderness: A Curated Glimpse at a World Overcome."